SELF CONFESSSED OBSESSED

A reader sent me an e-mail recently, saying “I saw your latest – do you HAVE to be such a pervert?!?”
Evidently yesterday’s post struck her as more than a little deviant.

I’ve thought about it. Seriously.
The answer to her question is ‘yes, Steffy, I really do’.
The reason is simple. Women are hot. I like their personalities too, precisely because they are women; if I wasn’t attracted to the fairer sex, they would just be people. There’s nothing special about that.

But women, that’s a different matter.

Fascinating creatures. I could sit in the bushes all day ogling them. Bugger the discomfort, the view is splendid!

It’s a question of aesthetics, but also of attractive character traits. Women act differently than men. Especially feisty women. There’s nothing quite so charming as a little spitfire telling some yutz her unvarnished opinion of him on the street. Feminine ire, well expressed, adds warmth and light to the world.
Truly, a women should be like a chilipepper, small and fiery.


So yes, Steffy, I will admit it. I am perverse.
I like hot spices, strong tobacco, Scotch whisky, herring, and fierce little females.
As long as none of those run out, I can be happy in this world.